Prologue: It All Ends In Fire
Podkamennaya Tunguska River Basin, Central Siberia
30 June 1908
Arkadi Lavrentiy limped through a maze of ruined trees, as he clutched his stomach with both hands; trying to prevent his entrails from spilling out. Lavrentiy looked like he’d fallen in front of a cattle stampede and managed to get caught by every horn and hoof. Open gashes dominated his cheeks and chin while his blood reddened eyes fought off the lure of sleep, swollen to the point of closure. A large splash of blood ran from his collarbone to his navel, dyeing Lavrentiy’s dull grey oblique-collared and belt-chined shirt a deep shade of crimson.
A sulphurous wind blasted into Lavrentiy, as he trudged onwards and ignored invisible blazing fingers jabbing into his exposed face, his mind having receded into semi-consciousness. All around him, the charred trunks of limbless pine trees pointed into space, like accusing fingers while great columns of thick black smoke drifted across a perfect blue afternoon sky. However, sightseeing was the last thing on Lavrentiy’s mind right now, for he was busy wondering how everything had all gone wrong.
Decades of careful planning and research, studying the Five Magics and collaborating with the brightest Magi Lavrentiy knew had all been for nothing. Lavrentiy spent many sleepless days and nights reading through countless essays and journals detailing the various Magics loaned from the Mage's Association’s vast literature collection, page by page, combing through every document. When he wasn't deprived of sleep or assimilating new knowledge into his mind, Lavrentiy spent his spare time consulting with his fellow Magi, discussing what he had learnt from his lengthy study sessions.
Yet, his efforts had brought nothing but death and destruction.
Right now, the past was a luxury, and all Lavrentiy could see was a darkened blanket of despair rolling over everything he had ever worked for. Tremor after tremor of pain ran down Lavrentiy’s spine as hobbled over the singed and ash-coated corpse of a fallow deer buck, taking great care to not stumble over it. The buck’s flesh-stripped skull was tilted upwards in a frozen shriek of terror along with its bloodied ribs.
A lone pine tree loomed before him, branches stripped of all leaves and silhouetted against the sky like beckoning arms. With what little energy that remained in him, Lavrentiy guided himself towards the tree and sat down against its trunk. His lips quivered, as tears welled up in his eyes and ran down his face. Was this how it was all going to end? Would Arkadi Lavrentiy, scion of House Lavrentiy fated to die in the freezing Siberian wastes all alone?
A chorus of wolf howls bounced around in the woods in the distance. The sound cut into Lavrentiy’s brain like a knife, eliminating all excess thought racing about in his mind. Something primal and pure called out to him from inside, warning him that he was far from safe. The sound of many paws padding against loose dirt grew ever closer to his position, approaching quickly.
The woods were too much for Lavrentiy to take in all at once, but his eyes tried to search every square inch of it in some defensive reflex. His body trembled, and his hands shook. He looked on, dumb; frozen like a statue, while his mind became blank with terror. Lavrentiy could only hope that someone would take it upon themselves to continue his life's work and avoid the mistakes that lead to his sudden, yet unexpected death.
After all, history was a guidebook, and those who refused to learn from it were always doomed to repeat it.
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